


So linger

by rohkeutta



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Feminization, Lingerie, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Toys, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8367958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohkeutta/pseuds/rohkeutta
Summary: After that he just looks at himself for a long time, taking in the rich blue of the dressing gown, the silk dark enough to cover him well but sheer enough to hint at what’s underneath. The shape of the kaftan fades the breadth of his shoulders, and the sash tied around his waist accentuates the narrowness of it; creates an illusion of Bucky being slenderer, smaller; tiny, delicate. With the new haircut and the faint flush high on his cheekbones, he looks almost unrecognizable: clearly more pretty than handsome; feminine, like one of those housewives in the 1950s media, waiting for her man to come home.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FowlProse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FowlProse/gifts), [littleblackfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackfox/gifts).



> Honestly this is just 6K of smut written at the office on my company's dime, because apparently I enjoy the voyeristic aspect of talking to my boss's boss over my monitors while I slowly type shit about Bucky wearing a buttplug. Title is from [Dark Water by Agent Fresco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VmNTl6JvDY).
> 
> For Lys and Fox who have tirelessly fueled this on. Special thanks to Boh for taking a chunk of her day for betaing my porn, and the liferaft chat for endless support, love ya guys!
> 
> //27.10.16 [LOOK GUYS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8393821), Fox made me an incredible Mucha-style fanart for this fic! Also [a rebloggable version](http://thelittleblackfox.tumblr.com/post/152373349650/art-for-the-fabulous-rohkeutta-and-her-gorgeous)!

The thought comes to him, like most random thoughts do, one late January morning, when Steve’s taking his sweet time prepping him.

Bucky’s a swearing, sweating mess on the sheets, trying to push back on Steve’s clever fingers, pretty sure his hair’s gonna turn grey before Steve’s done. He loves it slow, loves the thorough stretching and fingering, but as Steve’s finally, _finally_ lining his cock up, his familiar bulk hovering over Bucky’s back, Bucky suddenly thinks how nice it would be, if Steve could bend him over whenever and just go for it.

His breath hitches at the thought, and his fingers clench against the sheets. Steve pushes his chest down to the mattress with a hand between his shoulderblades, so that Bucky’s ass is lewdly in the air, and sinks in with a swift, powerful thrust.

Bucky’s comfortably loose, but Steve’s dick feels hard and hot and huge in him, so thick that he brushes Bucky’s prostate easily with his thrusts, and Bucky pants, imagining the scene as Steve starts to move.

Steve coming home from a mission, worked up and horny, soot in his hair, smelling like smoke and sweat and gun oil. Steve cornering Bucky against the kitchen island, unzipping his suit, pushing down Bucky’s pants and just sliding in; Bucky wet and eager and ready for his dick like a bitch in heat.

It’s slightly terrifying how much the scenario turns Bucky on, and so easy to imagine that Steve didn’t just spend a better part of an hour lovingly opening him up. He’s drilling into Bucky from behind, fast and hard, and the position makes it feel deliciously dirty, like Steve just turned him over and pushed in, looking for a fit ass to warm his dick in.

Steve sits back on his haunches, pulling Bucky upright with him by hips, and pushes back in in a long, slick slide that rubs just right all the way, making Bucky cry out.

“That’s it, sweetheart, there you go,” Steve says in his ear, a low rumble that Bucky feels all the way to his toes. “Sitting on my dick, just like you love it. You’re taking it so nicely, Buck, my sweet girl all filled up and wet for me.”

Bucky’s cheeks heat, half-aroused, half-embarrassed. It’s nothing new, this name-calling - Steve’s called him that since the war, but something in Bucky still wants to hide from it, after all these years. A warped idea of masculinity, perhaps, the shame of wanting so much to be small and pretty.

But Steve’s not wrong. There are few things Bucky likes more than this: on his knees, back curved like a bow against Steve’s chest, and his arms looped around Steve’s neck, taken from behind, full of Steve’s fat, gorgeous dick. He’s panting helplessly, eyes closed, inching closer to his peak as Steve rocks into him.

Steve reaches around him to wrap his hand around Bucky’s leaking cock, and Bucky’s so wired up that it takes only a couple of teasing tugs until he’s coming with a choked-off moan. Steve keeps grinding inside him, brushing against his prostate and prolonging the orgasm, while Bucky gulps air, open-mouthed and blissed out.

Just when Bucky’s starting to get sensitive, Steve pushes him back on his hands and knees, pulls out, and comes on Bucky’s ass and lower back with an undecipherable grunt.

They both collapse on the sheets, sweaty and breathless and grinning like loons. Bucky turns his head so that he can push his face against Steve’s armpit; throws his metal arm over Steve’s stomach.

Steve chuckles a little, carding his hand through Bucky’s hair. “You alright, baby?” he asks, voice low and scratchy.

Bucky nods, breathing in musk and sweat, grounding himself. “Yeah,” he murmurs against Steve’s flank, making him jump a little with the tickle. “I’m excellent.”

“Mm-hm,” Steve hums and lets his hand drift lower, dragging his index finger through the spunk on Bucky’s skin. He presses a thumb against Bucky’s spent, slick hole, and Bucky’s breath hitches against his will. “Me too.”

Bucky curls around him like an octopus, making himself smaller, easier to hold, and Steve smiles, starts humming absently as he gathers Bucky closer. It’s a little off-key, toneless, nothing like when Bucky does it himself, but he likes the familiarity of it.

It’s a beautiful morning, the sun slanting brilliantly through the haphazardly closed curtains, and Bucky yawns, blissed, happy, not in a hurry to go anywhere. He closes his eyes, rubs his head a little to get a perfect spot on Steve’s shoulder, and goes back to sleep.

**

The thought lives in the back of Bucky’s head for the next week. He thinks about it occasionally, blood rushing south at the worst possible moments. Steve gives him a couple of weird looks, when Bucky’s suddenly flushing at the breakfast table, but doesn’t ask. He’s accustomed enough to Bucky’s weird silences and racing imagination to let it lie unless it looks like something is truly bothering him.

When Steve leaves for two weeks to tour children’s hospitals and kiss babies, Bucky gets his chance. He does some research on the Internet, puts a couple of online orders in and makes sure to select the fastest shipping.

His human hand starts sweating as soon as he closes the door two days later, holding the small package. He’s tempted to rip it open, pull the excitement off like a bandaid, but instead he places it carefully on the kitchen counter and goes to take a long shower. He washes his hair, exfoliates, and shaves carefully with his metal hand. His eyes in the mirror are inscrutable.

He finally finds himself back in the kitchen almost an hour later, dressed in sweats and Steve’s t-shirt which is too tight for him but just the perfect size for Bucky. Bucky’s pretty sure that the shirt is a gag gift from Natasha, because Steve probably wouldn’t buy a clothing item with HANDS UP in Russian on the front by himself. The joke’s on Natasha; Bucky actually likes the shirt, and Steve likes to take it off Bucky.

After puttering around for a while, he finally gathers his courage and pulls out a pair of scissors.

He’s ordered the same silicone plug with a large base in two different sizes, because his research told him that it might be a good idea to get used to the smaller one first. Bucky hopes the internet isn’t trolling him this time.

He’s used to anal sex, so working the smaller plug in is easy. The silicone is harder than Steve’s dick, but not as unyielding as Bucky’s own metal fingers. Getting the thickest part in takes some work and feels strange since he’s not used to it, but when the base is nestled snugly against his hole, the weight of the plug on his rim doesn’t feel bad. His dick gets in with the program after he’s squirmed around on the bed for a while, testing how the plug shifts with his movements.

When he checks himself out in the mirror, spreading his cheeks to catch a peek at the black silicone, he flushes a little at the sight. It’s tantalizing and a little obscene, him in just his t-shirt and nothing else, his dick hard and leaking from the stimulation, the plug rubbing against his sensitive rim teasingly. He gets himself off like that, kneeling on the bed with his hand on his dick, rocking the plug inside him with two fingers.

His phone beeps while he’s lying on his back, catching his breath, and when he checks it, Steve’s sent him a pic with a ridiculously cute baby in a Captain America onesie. Steve looks positively horrified at having to hold the baby - he’s never been good with kids, and nowadays is too scared of accidentally crushing them with his strength.

Bucky sniggers, but his chuckles turn into a surprised moan, when the vibrations of his laughter make his ass clench a little around the plug. _Jesus_ , he’s pretty sure he’s made the best decision in his life, no matter how weird and a little mortifying it is to lie there with a plug up his ass, while Steve’s sending him innocent pics from his trip.

Bucky almost reaches between his legs and snaps a photo for Steve, just to fuck with him, but he wants it to be a surprise, so he types _You look like you just saw Stark naked_ , instead.

Steve replies with a photo of his middle finger. Bucky texts back, _I’d sit on that_.

After five long minutes, Steve sends back a string of angry emojis.

**

Bucky makes himself get used to wearing the plug for longer periods, adding a little more time every day. The larger plug slides in pretty easily, too, when he tries it after a couple of days, and after he gets past the weirdness of having his ass spread like that, it feels _incredible_ \- it’s not as long or thick as Steve’s dick, but presses against the right spot when Bucky’s sitting or walking. He’s always had a sensitive ass, and the constant rubbing against his rim keeps him sporting a boner like a teenager while he reads or cooks, making him squirm.

Having it on for longer periods turns out to be a little too awkward for him, but after testing a little, he finds the perfect balance of wearing the smaller plug for hours to rile himself up, then switching to the larger one to better loosen him up, and getting off with the press of it.

His other online order arrives two days after the plugs do, and Bucky tries the combination of wearing the soft, lacy underwear and the toy a couple of times. It’s not the first lingerie he’s owned, but it’s certainly the most exquisite: fine, semi-sheer black lace panties that hug his ass and hips, looking and feeling amazing. He’s ordered a couple of pairs, knowing that they probably won’t last very long with the enthusiasm Steve feels about Bucky wearing lingerie, and the thought of showing them off makes Bucky sweat in nervous excitement and arousal, just a little.

The day before Steve comes home, Bucky has a primping day: he gets a massage and a facial, and goes to get a haircut. He’s picked a couple of styles he likes from Pinterest, and after the barber is done, his hair looks incredible: it’s almost as long as it was, but cut nicely so that its natural curliness comes through, and it looks thicker, healthier.

It sweeps off from his face, parted on the left instead of the center-parting he’s had since the early fifties, and his face looks sharper, narrower, yet softened by the gentle, feminine curls around his ears. His skin looks healthy despite the small creases that have started to sink onto his forehead and in the corners of his mouth, and his eyes are serious and curious, almost green-grey thanks to the olive green shirt he’s wearing.

Bucky looks at himself from the mirror for a long time as the barber cleans up, and thinks, _I look like somebody finally starting to grow into himself._

**

Steve texts around one p.m. to say that he’s boarding the plane at Seattle airport and will be home by six-thirty. Bucky looks around the kitchen, wrinkling his nose, and goes to get the vacuum cleaner out.

After vacuuming, he goes upstairs to wash his hands and strip off his pants. He slicks the smaller plug up, slides it slowly inside. He’s very used to it by now, and when the toy is in place, he gives the base a small shake to ensure that it’s sitting comfortably between his cheeks. The plug feels good, filling him just enough that he can loosen up around it, but not enough to be completely satisfying. Then, he pulls a pair of sweats on, and starts cleaning the bathroom.

By the time the clock strikes half past five, Bucky’s almost vibrating out of his skin with nerves. He’s been wearing the smaller plug for a couple of hours, cleaning up the house so that he can feel the press while he moves, and he’s sweaty and relaxed from the exercise. He strips off his sweaty, dusty clothes, and takes a long shower, luxuriating in the hot water.

After drying himself off, he spreads his towel on the bed and lies down on it, spreading his legs. He’s shaved his ass that morning for the first time since buying the plugs, and the skin around his hole feels tingling and hypersensitive. The smaller plug slides easily out, and he lays it to the side to be cleaned, slicks up the larger plug and gently presses it against his hole. He’s moderately loose, and the toy fills the unsated ache inside him tolerably - it’s better than the smaller toy, but still not as large as Steve’s cock. Bucky feels his hole flutter eagerly at the thought of Steve pulling the plug out and replacing it with his dick, hard and hot and perfect.

When the plug is in place, he slips on the pair of black, lacy underwear he’d ordered. The silky material feels incredible against his cock, and when he reaches into the closet to draw out the thin silk kaftan he bought himself for Christmas but rarely wears, the plug rubs inside him _just right_. Bucky moans, involuntarily, and his dick starts to harden.

He pulls the kaftan on, shivering at the touch of the cool, smooth material against his skin, glances at the clock. Steve should be home any minute, so he goes back to the bathroom to dry his hair, fixing it so that it’s thick and lush and dried just right to accommodate the slight curliness in it.

After that he just looks at himself for a long time, taking in the rich blue of the dressing gown, the silk dark enough to cover him well but sheer enough to hint at what’s underneath. The shape of the kaftan fades the breadth of his shoulders, and the sash tied around his waist accentuates the narrowness of it; creates an illusion of Bucky being slenderer, smaller; tiny, delicate. With the new haircut and the faint flush high on his cheekbones, he looks almost unrecognizable: clearly more pretty than handsome; feminine, like one of those housewives in the 1950s media, waiting for her man to come home.

He strokes the fabric with his human fingertips, and something inside his chest swells and swells until he feels like he’s choking on it. He’s never-- he’s never been this blatantly open with this part of himself, and definitely not around Steve, and he’s suddenly afraid - that Steve might laugh, might not want this so far gone.

The front door opens, and Steve’s soft voice calls, “Buck, I’m home.”

Steve looks a little tired, golden and glowing in the yellow light of the foyer, and his jeans don’t do jack shit to hide his powerful thighs. Bucky can imagine how he must smell, like stale airplane air and sweat and faded cologne and safety.

Bucky wants to eat him up with a spoon, or tuck his face into Steve’s armpit and never resurface. “How was the trip, hon?” he asks, leaning to the doorframe. The plug shifts inside him as he cocks his hip, and the press is deep and delicious.

Steve looks up from where he’s toeing off his boots, and raises both eyebrows at Bucky’s dressing gown, the coquettish way his legs are crossed at the ankles. Steve takes it in slowly, drags his gaze from Bucky’s bare toes, up his legs.

Steve’s eyes linger a little at Bucky’s crotch, his erection clearly visible through the thin silk of the kaftan, and Bucky flushes hot all over just from the way Steve’s eyes go dark and appreciative.

Without taking his eyes off Bucky, Steve strips off his jacket and hangs it up. “Business as usual,” he says, and gives Bucky’s body another sweeping look as he walks closer, so that he can tug Bucky to him by hip. “What’s the occasion, sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says and kisses him sweetly. “Just happy you’re home.”

Steve’s eyes go soft and liquid, and he kisses Bucky again, deep and hard, making Bucky’s toes curl against the carpet. “I’m happy to be home, too,” Steve says softly. “I love your hair, and the gown.”

Bucky absolutely _does not preen_. He does flush a little, ducks his head to hide it, shivering a little when Steve rubs his hips absently with his thumbs.

“Come here,” Steve says and ushers Bucky to the living room, sitting down on the couch and pulling Bucky down to sit sideways on his lap.

Bucky automatically arranges the hem of the gown so that it’s not bunched, and leans a little against Steve’s chest. Steve’s arm behind his back is warm and safe.

“So, what did you get up to while I was gone?” Steve asks, sliding his hand up Bucky’s leg to his thigh, under the kaftan. Bucky battles the urge to slap his hand away and sniff like he’s insulted by Steve’s brashness.

“Oh, you know.” Bucky shrugs. “Fucked the milkman, sold some Avon, went to the hair salon with Marjorie next door.”

Steve laughs and squeezes Bucky’s hip. “Jeez, Buck, way to make a guy feel special.” His hand strokes Bucky’s thigh a little, inching higher. His fingers are warm and calloused and make Bucky shiver with their feather-light touch.

Bucky bites his lip, waiting with bated breath as Steve’s fingers brush the lace. Steve’s hand stills, and when Bucky dares a glance towards him, his expression changes from surprise to arousal.

“Sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, his fingers slowly stroking the fabric on Bucky’s hip. “Did you do some shopping?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes out, and lets his legs fall open a little. Steve corrects the position of his leg, and Bucky moans as the plug shifts inside him.

Steve’s hand stills again. “Bucky?”

“Thought I’d make myself ready for you,” Bucky says, then tips his head back as he grinds a little against Steve’s thigh, strong and unyielding under his weight.

“Make yourself ready--” Steve starts in a questioning tone, but then he gets it and falls silent, eyes round and pupils blown wide. He moves his hand again, and Bucky spreads his legs a bit more.

Then, Steve’s fingers slide down between Bucky’s legs and under the sheer, silky lace of his underwear to touch the base of the plug, jolting it a little. Bucky moans breathlessly.

“Jesus, Mary and _motherfucking Joseph_ ,” Steve says, and his voice sounds like gravel, as he nudges the toy, thumbing the slick rim of Bucky’s hole.

“Don’t shame Joseph,” Bucky scolds, but his voice sounds oddly high in his own ears. “The guy’s wife got knocked up by a holy ghost, no wonder if he gets desperate.”

Steve stares for a moment, blinking in astonishment, and then he cracks up, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s armpit and laughing so hard that he’s shaking. Bucky combs his right hand through Steve’s hair while he wheezes, marveling at its softness.

Bucky thinks, sometimes, that the only good thing he’s ever done in his life has been making Steve laugh.

“I love you,” Steve says, stifling his chuckles, and gives the plug another experimental push, effectively stopping Bucky’s train of thought. “But sometimes you are a handful.”

“Mm,” Bucky says, closing his eyes and rocking a little against Steve’s hand. “How about you do something about it and I stop talkin’ about Joseph?”

“Show me, sweetheart,” Steve says roughly, pulling his hand slowly back.

Bucky gets up, turns, and sits backwards in Steve’s lap with his knees on both sides of Steve’s legs. Steve’s hands come up to grip at his hipbones, and Bucky curves his back, opens the belt of the dressing gown and lets the silk slip slowly from his shoulders.

Steve inhales sharply behind him, like the sight of Bucky’s mismatched shoulders and arched back is something unbearably erotic, and Bucky feels a thrill somewhere deep. He feels powerful, loving how in charge of both his and Steve’s pleasure he is, dressing and undressing as he pleases.

The kaftan falls to Steve’s lap, and Bucky lifts himself to his knees, pushing his silk-covered ass subtly back towards Steve.

“Fuck, baby,” Steve murmurs, and his left hand strokes slowly up Bucky’s back, dips into his freshly cut hair, and slides down to palm Bucky’s ass. His hand is broad and incredibly warm. “You look so good, Buck. My beautiful, gorgeous girl.”

Steve moves the kaftan carefully to the side, folding it as well as he can with his lap occupied. Then, he pulls Bucky’s underwear to the side to expose his hole, his hand gripping Bucky’s cheek, spreading him open. It makes his sensitive rim rub against the plug’s base, and Bucky pants, his thighs quivering.

Steve presses the base of the plug gently with two fingers, then eases off, presses again, rocking the plug a little. The plug’s soft, curved edges rub Bucky’s hole with the faintest, teasing pleasure, and Bucky breathes in, long and heavy.

Bucky bites his lip and braces his hands on Steve’s knees, curving his ass back, his head hanging helplessly. His cock is straining against the silky material of the briefs, wet and aching and harder than he’s ever been in his life. “Please,” he pants. “Fuck, Steve, please, give it to me.”

Steve kisses his shoulder. “Patience, baby,” he says. He hooks two fingers around the plug’s base and starts pulling it out, slowly. Torturously, the wider part slides out of Bucky, making him groan.

“Jesus,” Steve whispers behind him, mesmerized, rubbing Bucky’s hip with his free hand. “Wish you could see yourself, Buck.”

Bucky feels oddly empty without the comfortable press of the toy, but then Steve’s setting the plug aside and spreading Bucky’s ass with both hands, his thumbs pressing against Bucky’s hole, slipping in.

Bucky moans, and Steve curses behind him. His thumb presses deeper, sliding easily through the slick. “Fuck,” Steve says, and his voice sounds strained. “So wet and ready for me, sweetheart. Want me to fuck you while you’re wearing these, dirty you up?” He tugs at the panties a little so that they tighten around Bucky’s cock, and Bucky chokes back a surprised gasp. His dick leaks at the friction.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and his voice is high and reedy as he grinds down on Steve’s thumb, desperate to be filled again. “Yeah, please, _please_ , honey.”

Steve tests Bucky’s hole lazily with his finger, just the faintest, teasing pressure. “You’re too good for me, Buck,” he murmurs, pulling his thumb back and sliding three fingers easily in, Bucky loose and accommodating around them. “My thoughtful girl, getting yourself nice and pretty for your man.”

Bucky’s cheeks heat up, and his chest goes tight and hot with pleasure at the praise. He tries to swivel his hips to get more friction, but Steve tuts a little, withdraws his fingers. Bucky whines, clamping down the sound as soon as it escapes from his mouth, mortified. Steve kisses a soothing trail down his spine, and leans to the side to fish the lube from the small drawer next to the couch. He’s still rubbing Bucky’s eager hole with the calloused pad of his thumb, and every touch feels like a fuse lighting under Bucky’s skin.

Steve fumbles his jeans open and his cock out with one hand. The cap of the lube clicks, and then there’s the wet sound of Steve fisting his dick. “You wanna sit down, baby?” he murmurs in a low voice, one hand sliding to Bucky’s hip just above the waistline of the panties, the other pulling the lacy fabric aside to expose Bucky’s hole.

Bucky swallows, nods an enthusiastic yes. He braces his metal hand against Steve’s knee and reaches behind himself so that he can wrap his fingers around Steve’s hot, heavy cock and line it up. He sneaks a glance over his shoulder: Steve’s reclining against the cushions, fully clothed except for the V of his open jeans, staring at Bucky’s hand on his dick with dark eyes.

Bucky swallows again and closes his eyes, imagining the same scene but with Steve’s gaze less caring and more belittling; happy that he’s found himself a pretty plaything, an eager, sopping wet girl to sit in his lap, but more focused on getting his dick warm than on who he’s warming it with. Right now that fantasy feels less appealing than the reality: Steve’s low, admiring voice, the praising words about how well Bucky’s done.

He slowly lowers himself so that the tip of Steve’s cock nudges against his hole, and then Steve says quietly, “Look at yourself, sugar,” tapping Bucky’s hip with his finger. Bucky turns his head so that he can look at the scene from the tall mirror they have on the living room wall to make the room seem bigger, and his breath catches in his throat.

It looks positively slutty: the kaftan lying on the couch, Steve in his jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt, Bucky himself flushed and bright-eyed and holding Steve’s dick in position while he slowly sinks down on it. It looks exactly like it is; like Bucky got so worked up at home when Steve was away that the only thing in his head is just how to get a cock in him as soon as possible.

Bucky stares at himself as he starts circling his hips, working Steve’s cock inside him inch by inch, until he can take his hand off and lower himself the last bit so that his ass is flush against the soft, washed-out denim of Steve’s jeans. His head’s thrown back, eyes half-closed and mouth open, his erection tenting the fine lace, Steve’s dick hard and thick inside him, stretching him wide.

Bucky’s so loose that the stretch feels only delicious, and he moans, full of dick like a little bitch, his cock drooling into his panties. He circles his hips a little, and Steve grunts behind him, both hands coming to frame Bucky’s hips, pressing down, sliding up towards his waistline like Steve’s painting curves on him. Bucky flushes at the thought, thinking about the show he’s putting on for Steve: his hole stretched obscenely around the girth of Steve’s dick, the flare of his ass swiveling in slow circles around it.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve murmurs, splaying his hands on Bucky’s muscled waist like he’s trying to reach around it with his fingers. “That’s it, that’s so good, _fuck._ ”

Bucky curves his back, squirming on Steve’s dick like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to really fuck himself on it, with Steve holding his hips steadily. Steve’s clever hands slide up to his chest, palming Bucky’s pecs so that the hard, flushed nipples peek from between his index and middle fingers. He rubs his fingers slowly against the sensitive peaks, squeezing Bucky’s tits together, and Bucky makes a high, needy noise, pushes his chest more firmly into Steve’s palms.

“Fuck, Steve, please,” he begs, rocking his hips, trying to chase the sparks. He spreads his knees even further, desperate to feel Steve’s dick deeper. But Steve’s kneading his chest with unyielding pressure, keeping him from getting the leverage, worrying his nipples with his fingers. Bucky doesn’t know where to put his own hands, so he places them on top of Steve’s. Steve rubs a little harder, and Bucky pants, open-mouthed.

“You like this?” Steve asks, leaning forward so that his breath is hot against Bucky’s ear. “My sweet, lovely girl, gettin’ hot all over from having her tits played with.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky manages, embarrassed and so turned on that he wants to melt into a puddle and disappear.

Steve keeps Bucky steady with both hands, cants his hips just a little so that his dick brushes against Bucky’s prostate, and Bucky gasps, tries to push back against it. Steve starts rolling his hips, fucking Bucky shallowly but keeping the pace torturously slow, like he’s savouring the way his movements make Bucky’s body respond.

Bucky tries to follow Steve’s thrusts as best as he can, but Steve’s hold on him is strong, and he can’t do much more than grind down and take what he’s given. His thighs are starting to burn from holding himself in the same position, and he shifts a little, trying to ease the pressure in his knees.

Steve pulls his chest back a little, so that Bucky has to brace himself on the back of the couch to stop himself from falling. Bucky glances at the mirror again, marveling at the perfect bow of his body, the sheen of sweat on his chest. Steve’s gaze follows his, and together they stare at the scene: Bucky in his pretty underwear, a wet stain where his cock is rubbing against the lace, his hair brushing his shoulders, Steve’s hands still on his tits.

“Look at you, baby,” Steve murmurs. He sounds a little strained, a little hoarse, but there’s fondness in his voice that makes Bucky’s insides feel like they’re on fire. He slides his hands down Bucky’s sides again, spreads Bucky’s ass and watches his dick sliding slowly in. “You’re perfect, Buck. I’m so fucking lucky to come home to you.”

Bucky bites his lip, mostly to stop himself from smiling like a lovesick idiot, but then Steve unexpectedly shifts his grip to Bucky’s hips and lifts him, just a couple of inches, before slamming him back down. Everything goes tight and hot, and Bucky hears a high-pitched keen that probably came from his own mouth as Steve hits his prostate, and pleasure hits Bucky like a freight train.

Bucky grips the back of the couch and grinds down on Steve’s cock, the burn in his thighs worse, his joints protesting against being in the same position for so long. The lacy edge of his panties rubs against his asscheek and Steve’s dick, probably irrevocably ruined.

“Fuck, sugar,” Steve pants, his hips pistoning up mercilessly, his dick rubbing and rubbing and rubbing, slick and hot and everything Bucky’s ever needed, “you’ve been waiting for this since I left, haven’t you? Walking around the house wearing that plug, desperate to get a cock in you.” He tugs at the fabric on Bucky’s hip and slows down his pace again, going back to that teasing, shallow rocking.

Bucky makes a small, almost shameful noise in agreement through his laboured breathing, gulping down air to catch his breath. Steve kisses his ear, shifts his legs under Bucky a little and leans back again, resting his hands on Bucky’s waist. “Go on then,” he says, and it’s like pebbles rolling in his throat, the crunch of gravel under a boot. “Show me how a wet, cock-hungry dame like you takes it.”

Bucky braces his hands on Steve’s knees again, shifts his weight a little, and starts rocking on Steve’s cock. Now that Steve’s not holding him, Bucky can get the exact angle he wants and pick his pace, and soon he’s panting again, overstimulated and so fucking full, riding Steve’s dick and loving every second of the slick slide of it.

Steve twists Bucky’s nipples again between his fingers, tugging and kneading, and every jolt shoots straight to Bucky’s dick, making him moan. Steve’s grunting occasionally, the rhythm of his breathing heavy and strained.

“You want me to wet you up?” Steve asks, pushing Bucky’s tits together obscenely, like he’s offering them to an invisible mouth, and Bucky flushes hot at the thought of Steve showing him off like a fit trophy wife.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, voice thin and sticking in his throat. Steve scrapes his nails down his flat stomach, palms Bucky’s leaking dick and squeezes, and Bucky trips over the edge, coming so hard that his vision blacks out a little.

Steve grunts when Bucky’s nails dig into his thigh and picks up his pace again, fucking into Bucky with merciless pounding. Bucky hangs on helplessly, his mouth open and hair in his face, as Steve keeps brushing the sweet, sensitive spot inside him, making his ass clench almost continuously.

Steve groans, tugging Bucky’s tits with his hands, says “ _Fucking hell_ ,” in a garbled voice, and spills inside Bucky; a warm, wet mess that feels both intimate and dirty as hell. Steve rides out his orgasm by rocking his dick shallowly into Bucky, the urge replaced by satisfied laziness.

Bucky’s right hand is trembling and he pitches forward, boneless from pleasure, and it’s only Steve’s hands that keep him from falling onto his face on the floor. Steve tugs him back against his chest, pushing Bucky’s hips up so that his dick slides out of him with a wet squelch. Bucky turns in his arms, tucks his face into Steve’s neck, fucked out and dirtied up, and he doesn’t trust his voice enough to say anything.

Steve strokes his sweaty back with his broad, blood-hot palm, murmuring endearments and mindless praise into his ear, and Bucky exhales, inhales, exhales, trying to catch his breath and get his brain back online.

“Well,” Steve says after several minutes has passed and Bucky’s starting to register that he’s uncomfortably sticky and getting cold with the cooling sweat. “Can’t complain about the welcome home committee.”

“I would’ve made you a banner,” Bucky mumbles back, “but thought that a plug in my ass would drive the sentiment home better.”

“It certainly drove something home, alright,” Steve says with a completely straight face, then dissolves into a yelping laughter when Bucky pinches him with his metal fingers, because that pun was _terrible._ Steve kisses the crown of Bucky’s head and grabs Bucky’s ass with both hands, hoisting him up like he weighs nothing, and carries him into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

**

Bucky’s wearing the kaftan the next morning, leaning against the kitchen island and reading the newspaper, when Steve comes into the kitchen. He’s stepping on the squeaky floorboards in the corridor on purpose, because he knows how much Bucky hates people sneaking up on him, and the thoughtfulness of the gesture is a warm spot in Bucky’s chest even as he concentrates on the foreign news.

Steve presses up against his back, arms around Bucky’s waist, kissing his jaw. “Morning,” he mumbles, and Bucky feels the vibrations of his voice somewhere under his ribcage. Steve’s shirtless, warm and a little sleepy, and his morning wood is poking the curve of Bucky’s ass.

“Morning, honey,” Bucky says and turns his head so that Steve can kiss him on the lips, sweet and minty. It’s not a beautiful day: the sky’s covered in thick clouds, and it’s gloomy, rain misting down and making everything dark and miserable.

Steve makes a pleased noise against his mouth and shifts his hips a little, and Bucky pushes his ass back just a fraction, to gauge his reaction. Steve’s hand drifts down from his waist, sliding on the silk before changing direction and starting to ruck the kaftan up, slowly.

Bucky hums and tilts his head to the side when Steve noses his neck, presses a soft kiss on the place where Bucky’s pulse is beating under his skin, steady and strong. “If you keep that up, you’ll ruin my dressing gown.”

“You look so gorgeous in it, Buck,” Steve murmurs between kisses, clever fingers sneaking under the fabric and running up the back of Bucky’s thigh. He grinds against Bucky’s ass, lazily. “But I bet it would look even better on the bedroom floor.”

Steve hitches the gown up to expose Bucky’s ass, unties the sash with his other hand and gropes Bucky’s chest when it’s uncovered. Bucky can still feel the slick inside him from last night, and he has a pretty good idea where this is going, his breathing picking up a little.

Bucky smiles to himself and leans against the counter, happy as a clam. Steve’s fingers brush a nipple, and Bucky gasps, closes his eyes, and lets the awful pick-up line slide.

It’s a nice morning, despite the weather.

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky's kaftan is very much like [this one](http://www.whatkatiedid.com/product/1251/kaftan-dressing-gown-sheer-grey), except dark blue and made out of silk.
> 
> My tumblr's [here](http://rohkeutta.tumblr.com), if you feel like yelling incomprehensibly about Bucky in lingerie or something.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for So Linger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8393821) by [littleblackfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackfox/pseuds/littleblackfox)
  * [Be the ember](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210930) by [rohkeutta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohkeutta/pseuds/rohkeutta)




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